Incoming
by snarechan
Summary: Duelists of the Roses verse. That isn’t a storm coming, but the clouds are just as foreboding.


Incoming

By Snare-chan

**Pairings**: Bakura/Yami  
**Ratings**: T  
**Category(ies)**: General  
**Warning(s)**: Mentions of violence and gore  
**Status**: One-shot, complete  
**Summary**: (Duelist of the Roses verse) That isn't a storm coming, but the clouds are just as foreboding.

**Notes**: On livejournal, yaoiness-kokoro made a request for darkshipping and something done in an alternate universe other than Egypt, with no fluffiness or lemon…ness. I finally wrote for it and used it as a chance to practice some more with an old favorite: Duelist of the Roses. The drabble kind of exploded into a four page fanfic, so I guess I got my hours in. ;P

**Disclaimer**: I don't own YuGiOh! Duelist of the Roses; wish I did like everybody else. They should put YGO: DotR in stock, then I'd buy it all!

* * *

Yami, from the balcony of his bedroom, looked below at the courtyard spread out in front of him, to the stone wall surrounding his castle, and out over the city that had bustled around his residence for as long as he could remember. He loved the beauty that came from the life he was never able to live, how picturesque such simple structures and domestic lives painted.

A breeze suddenly started, blowing in from the east. He unconsciously leaned into it, closing his eyes, and noted how oddly warm it was.

"Seto's fires are spreading," a voice pointed out, startling Yami slightly.

He turned to address the surprise guest, his Secretary of Defense, Bakura of Rennes, who was leaning against the doorframe of the double awning leading to the balcony. He was dressed in his leathers, his armor having to be removed earlier to treat his battle wounds. One arm was in a sling, wrapped up to the point that only the tips of his fingers were apparent, and his torso hidden by layers of gauze that would need to be changed soon.

The broken arm had been treated by the healers, but the break was still weak and susceptible to damage again if he didn't let the magic cast on him to do its work. It wasn't Yami's main concern, and his eyes trailed from Bakura's face to the hidden wound on his chest. He had suffered a direct attack from one of Seto's dragons and had not escaped alive unscathed. Yami had heard the account of what happened from one of the other's own men who had witnessed the battle. None of the field medics had been capable of reaching him soon enough; to survive, he'd burned his own wound closed to keep from bleeding to death.

"See something that pleases you, lord?"

"You should be asleep in bed, recovering," Yami responded, fisting his hands on the stonework to keep from escorting Bakura there himself.

His second was stubborn and wouldn't respond positively to that kind of show of concern. Bakura's pride was already at near-breaking from his earlier defeat at the hands of the enemy, and he wasn't a patient man to begin with. Being forced to remain situated in bed was akin to torture. Often, the other would proclaim that he would rest when he was dead, interested more in aiding the war effort than exercising proper care.

As if sensing his thoughts and intentions, Bakura went against his wishes and moved to stand by his side. The process must have been painful because he moved slowly and carefully. There was a slight limp to his left leg, as it had almost been crushed by a clawed foot earlier in the same battle Bakura had garnered his other wounds from. His attempts to cover it were not successful; although he no doubt hid the majority of it, Yami still had an eye for picking it out.

Miraculously, nothing had been broken, but it had been lacerated horribly. The healers had seen to sealing all the cuts, but even with the assistance of their specialized monsters, there was no such thing as a perfect cure. A phantom pain, a reflection of what one would be feeling if the wounds were still there, would be felt until it healed normally. Sometimes even bruises would linger, despite the closing of the wounds.

"I tire of staring at my bedroom walls and the gaudy tapestries adorning them," Bakura said once he stood to Yami's left. "This view is vastly more entertaining than rock and poor craftsmanship."

He followed his lord's earlier gaze, no doubt seeing the tell-tale signs of war. Hints of smoke were in the distance, and as the wind swept by again, Bakura inhaled softly, taking in the scent of ash.

"He will not stop until he is here by morning," he announced, returning to the earlier subject of Seto and his campaign. "There will be little rest for us all. We have to prepare for his arrival."

"You'll be of little use to me if you fall asleep on your feet during a sword fight," Yami pointed out.

That was the wrong thing to say in this situation; Bakura snapped his gaze away from the houses and smoke and cast it down at his lord, looking bitter.

"I am useless to you in my condition regardless of my state of rest, as I am sure you have keenly noticed. I will do what I must with the cards I have been dealt. There is no _time_ to waste on frivolous things when impending death lingers at our doorstep!"

Yami tilted his head, taking in the other's appearance, and saw all too well what condition he was in. It sent a flurry of emotions through him each and every chance he took him in. Guilt, for allowing this to happen, shame, for being unable to prevent it, and _anger_, boiling hot under the surface of his collar, like a searing reminder. He wasn't prone to such a concept; were he given a choice in the matter, his talent at delegation and civility – the best example of pacifist upbringing – would be preferable to all this killing.

But this war had changed everything. It had gone on long enough that all the ill circumstances and pressure had simply destroyed a barrier in him that he hadn't been aware was there, and when it began to crack and crumble, he was unable to redirect the sudden onslaught. He wanted to strike Seto where he stood, to end all of this. Yami should be afraid of such violent thinking, about what this said about him and what he was capable of doing.

Yet, he did not fear this.

He _should_, but instead, he embraced it with a vengeance and a grip that was unbreakable.

Gazing at Bakura's state now, he felt that emotion so close to hate resurface, and tentatively, he lifted a hand to run his thumb along the area he knew the other's wound resided. The feather-light touch was in complete contrast to his harsh thoughts, a dervish of pain and anguish and uncertainty. Yami had been told there was nothing more they could do; the burn was too deep and set. It would forever leave a scar.

"Obstinate, persistent fool," he murmured. He wasn't even sure who he was cursing when he said it. Maybe himself for letting this go on when he had the power to stop it, maybe Bakura for putting himself in harm's way, maybe Seto for forcing all of this on them, or maybe the world for being such a sick and twisted place. Everything was falling apart, and the future was bleak.

"You realize most ladies of the court would be flattered to have a knight risk their life for them," Bakura stated, taking the hand resting on his chest in his own and bringing it to rest on his lips.

"If you were not injured, I would strike you."

And just like that, the situation dampened, returning to a normalcy that wasn't really normal at all, but in this place, this time, it was the most peaceful they had been in days. His Secretary of Defense grinned wickedly against his knuckles, giving them a teasing kiss, as if he had just been flattered by his favorite admirer.

Gently, he retracted his hand, and Bakura let him with the intention of resting his hand on the small of his lord's back instead. There was enough presence to the touch that Yami could feel it through the fabric of his cape and tunic, and it had a sort of calming effect on him.

"Seto's winning streak is about to meet an untimely end. I can sense it," he murmured confidently. "His progress through our territory has made him cocky, and despite his power, his forces have waned. He will not make it inside our castle walls; I will see to it personally if I must."

"No."

And before he could protest, Yami said, "_I_ will personally see to it."

"Mm… Give him a good one across the temple for me, if that is the case. I owe him for these souvenirs."

"I will give him more than that, if I am able."

"…Perhaps your uncle is correct in thinking I am a bad influence on you."

Yami smiled at that, though it was short-lived as he looked back towards the incoming forces. The skies were black too early, the smoke from the fires blocking out the sun from its origins and dispersing like a storm of bad omens and dread. Tomorrow was to be a long day.

-Fin-


End file.
